


Melting Magnets

by blueberry01120



Series: Experiments in A/(B)/O [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Doctor Bruce Banner - Freeform, Doctor Tony Stark, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Intersex Loki, M/M, Natasha is Natalie - Freeform, Odin's A+ Parenting, Omega Loki, Omegas have vaginas mang, Politician Steve Rogers, Precociousness, Public Sex, Student Loki, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5799553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberry01120/pseuds/blueberry01120
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Okay, so that was a test of self-control Tony completely failed. And by completely, he means flat out, 0%, Z-, you shall not pass this course.<br/>Except there's really no redo on sticking his dick inside his omega who happens to be a 15 year old." </p><p>Dr. Tony Stark, master heart-breaker and heart-fixer, meets the omega he never thought he had in Loki. Besides toeing the line of the doctor-patient relationship--because Loki's father, not Loki, is the patient--there's a not so little age difference that could have Tony trading the blue scrubs for an orange jumpsuit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Taken from the Disclosure feat. Lorde song. That's my jam.  
> So, I have a soft spot for Frostiron that I've never indulged by writing myself, but lately, I have been, so here's one of those go's at Loki/Tony Stark.

# #L#

Loki knows all about that stupid saying. You know that feel good Hallmark card garbage 'Death brings people together.' He'll admit it's mostly true from his fleeting encounters with death in the family, his late grandfather Buri croaking and his distant second cousins and great aunts and uncles blubbering like the century he lived wasn't enough.

Okay, 58 isn't exactly the longest lifespan, but contrary to this mass waste of breaths on reminiscing someone down in the ICU could probably use right now, Odin hasn't even died yet.

He and Thor have barely spoken more words than "Move" and "Shut up" since Thor became the cult of masculinity. But Thor's happy to stoop down to Loki's level and recount the good old days when Loki was his annoying little definitely omega brother but his friends had to deal with it. Which they did. Because people have always—literally from birth. Loki can picture the nurses and doctors and Odin and their mother swooning at the ball of golden light that emerged from between their mother's legs and holding it to the heavens in some imitation of the Lion King—liked Thor. Liked his perfect smile and his uber manly voice and his huge muscles—and the muscles on those muscles—even before he officially presented as the alpha anyone with two working brain cells knew he was going to be.

The alpha that Loki, who's been demoted to annoying little brother who can help with calculus homework and cover for Thor when he's went to some stupid party to pick up omegas on a school night, never was. So much for all of that stuff about the A allele being like a family heirloom.

It's just another way he's the black sheep in a room full of people who supposedly have his back. The only context that's true in is before they plunge a knife into it.

Thor's talking about some totally hilarious time Loki got stuck in a tree and he had to play super big brother and climb up and get him. He's smiling in a way that only comes natural to him and would look Machiavellian at best on Loki and forgetting that Loki got sick from sitting up there in a the rain before Odin came and saved them.

Typical. Thor always escaped unharmed with some super funny story to tell his friends, and Loki had a fever or some stitches to show for it.

"What about when me, you, and Dad went camping back when I was in eighth grade?" Again, one of those elbow nudges over the armrests Thor's tree trunk of an arm's hogging. "Remember that?"

Loki's default 'indifferent' with 'irritated' undertones usually gives whoever's dumb enough to bother him a hint, but—Loki's not saying that Thor is dumb even though he obviously is—Thor never gets the hint. Even with his keen, alpha nose.

"Thor," but their mother, who is the smartest woman Loki's ever had the pleasure of knowing, smells that shift from indifferent to 'kind of pissed.' Which Loki's sort of sorry for since she has other issues besides Thor being oblivious, like, her husband and mate being opened up in some OR down the ball. Not that she's giving off anything other than her usual warm silky soft poise. "You know your brother doesn't like camping."

"Loki doesn't like anything." Thor's sigh, the one blaming Loki for their current non-relationship, is drowned out by the buzzing of those fluorescent lights all hospitals have, nestled in that ugly tile ceiling all hospitals have. God, Loki forgot how much he hated these. "What is taking them so long?"

It's a rhetorical question, practically screaming for an answer to bait Thor. But Loki knows how to choose his battles, and right now, in some watered down bubblegum pink waiting room with his mother and assorted relatives oozing tension, is not the time.

He jams his ear buds deep enough to mute Balder, who is just as dumb and loud as Thor, and grabs some glossy magazine with cute boys in it. Sif gives him the side eye and so does Aunt Freya, but they both would rather him be quiet and disrespectful than disrespectful out loud.

Those double doors leading the great white sterile beyond open.

They all rise, ready to ambush, like another five seconds of waiting will kill them or you know, Odin.

Thor pats his shoulder, and Loki can hear the mumbled, "Come on."

Whatever. Following Thor, he turns his music down, but the ear buds stay in.

After a much earned sigh, there's something new in the air. Something... amazing.

Velvety and smoky and woody in that way good chocolate is. Musky and sweet but not so much, just barely enough to make those spots under Loki's neck tingle and his throat close up, but the rest of him, it's like a warm blanket. No, like—like he's getting closer to open fire, close enough that it should hurt, but it... doesn't.

He steps from behind Thor, and _oh_.

Something inside of him gives.

Him, tall, dark, and gorgeous, and staring through Loki with those deep blue eyes he's totally going to drown in—would drown in if he didn't jump in and save him with those muscles the white coat and green scrubs are trying to hide. He'd save him and resuscitate him with his biteable and kissable lips, and Loki would thank him, dropping to his knees and worshipping that monster that's definitely not just the angle of his scrubs.

Holy shit. He's... soaking.

He tries to stop the heat from going to his face, but he shifts from heel to heel and his wet underwear rub him the wrong, right way.

God. What is he, 12?

Dr. S-something, Loki can't tell with his head spinning and the lapel of his coat in the way, is looking at Loki's mother now, which he should be and Loki has no reason to be mildly annoyed at, and speaking in this deep confident voice that is his scent in sound form. It's really fascinating to watch his mouth move, and Loki's maybe thinking about how his facial hair would feel against his skin, pressed against his neck as that alpha scent gets all over him.

He's really, really getting ahead of himself.

"So, he's alive?" someone with Loki's voice says.

Loki evidently since they all look at him, _him_ included.

Dr. S-something gets this look on his face, the sexiest hands ever clenching into fists under his arms. Enough for his lapel to shift and it's Dr. Anthony Stark. "Yeah. He is," he says to Loki when he'd obviously rather not. Loki shouldn't feel embarrassed over some stranger thinking he's stupid when he and the rest of them know he's not.

But he's dripping and has an ache to match, and his skin is on fire.

"We'll ease Odin out of the coma if his condition is stable in 2-3 days. All we can do is wait." Dr. S-something nods, and Loki finds himself doing the same, hand on his neck to try to hide some of the pink that's definitely there. "Any... questions?"

A million and one of them, but Loki focuses all his energy into whispering to Thor, "I'm going to the restroom," and keeping his pace under a sprint but above a walk that would inevitably turn into a weird 'my pants are obviously sopping' shuffle.

There's a split-second where his legs are about to revolt and stop because _something_ is missing, but that sensation dulls down.

Because he's being followed. Hindbrain and forebrain link enough for that realization. But his heart's wobbling in his chest out of something completely different than fear or suspicion.

Whatever it is makes him almost giddy standing there alone in the restroom.

The door opens, producing Dr. Stark.

_Alpha_.

He's too blinded by that to see the hand before it touches his face, warm and textured and possessive.

Possessed, that's what he is, by some need making him clutch onto soft hair and follow the invisible lead. That metallic snick shuts them close but not close enough for the screams under Loki's skin to quiet. He can't not press all of himself forward to offer everything and take what he gives in soft lips rubbing along his jaw, sucking the hot air from his lungs and marks he hopes, he needs onto him.

His mouth's captured, and their lips fit so perfectly.

Their tongues even better. He tastes like he smells, and Loki clings to his shoulders, asking—no, begging and pleading the way he can't with words. Because they've failed him now for the first time in ever.

There is too much in the way of skin, but he can’t focus his hands, has to touch everywhere—neck, shoulders, arms, hips, sides, searching for—he doesn’t know what he’s searching for, but he knows he has to find it. But those hands he can't remember never feeling, they know. They just do. Everywhere then _there_ , that feeling he’s imagined at being degraded and invaded with anyone exposing him this way startlingly nonexistent.

There’s only the cold air. Fingers, thicker and warmer, rub against him and do marvelous things that open his aching lips with a sting that he gasps at. Because his fingers, they don't compare. Never will. And it's not enough, no matter how he twists them and rubs him and says these beautiful, beautiful promises under the drum of Loki's heartbeat.

The ground dissolves from under him, but he, his alpha, holds him and tells him, "I've got you, baby. I've got you" with his words and his steady blue-black eyes where Loki can see himself floating.  

He presses inside of him, big, bigger than anything Loki's ever felt and stretches him so, so wide he's briefly terrified he's going to split in half but doesn't because it's, "Like your pussy was made for my dick, Christ," and the sting slides up his sides and around to his spine.

He can taste it at the back of his tongue, behind his alpha, and he can feel it, that need for him to go deeper, so he tightens his knees around his alpha's hips, sobs it against his alpha's lips, “Please.”

The pain breaks Loki’s lips from his alpha's, that depth where there’s no more to go, and his alpha's against him, fire where his alpha's hands hold his hips.

"Mine," he's saying into Loki's mouth, into his neck, into his shoulder, and Loki's burying himself in the heat of his neck so he's breathing in only him with each gasp punched out of him. _His_.

He should be scared. He should be terrified. He should be. But he’s only of the intrusive memories before the friction, the fullness inside of him, the rub of tight, hot skin against him, the prickle against his cheek and his chin.

There's an, "Oh, fuck," echoed in the stare that blossoms blue before that deep somewhere he's touching inside of Loki, somewhere that shouldn't even exist, freezes, taking every other muscle in him, in both of them too. Then it snaps, seizes him from the inside out, so he almost crumples, so hard that his heart seems to falter enough for him to think that he's dying, that's going to fall into that void creeping at the edges of his vision, like a night sky to hold those sparkling stars, alone.

But _he_ —he's there to fill him with so much, too much, Loki has no choice but to unfold around the warm pulses so, so deep inside of him.

So deep and full.

"Holy shit." It's breathed against his lips and echoed into his chest.

He's lying on his shoulder, completely drained of energy and filled with... other things.

His internal holy shit is less amazed and more hysterical. Because holy shit, that—that just happened, and now, this, being knotted, this is happening. This thing that Loki's fantasized about those times of the month his instincts try to pull a coup over his more rational thoughts like the ones that were completely absent leading him here.

He hates how more than okay his body is with his current predicament.

And hates even more how less than okay it is when he's emptied in a wincing pull.

It's hard to look put off with cum trickling out of him, even more when it's his, his, you know. Actually, no 'you' don't know and neither does Loki because, because no. No, he's not his alpha. He's an alpha Loki happened to find absurdly attractive—and maybe still does—but that doesn't change the fact that he's not... he's not.

A buzz interrupts the increasingly awkward stare down. It's Dr. Stark's phone.

There's cum on Dr. Stark's shirt. Loki's.

When he notices, he only says that he guesses he has to get changed before his next surgery. Which is in half an hour, but that must be long since Dr. Stark doesn't go abandoning Loki here in the despair's that due any second now. 

"It's Loki, right?" He's starting to rock on his heels. "I heard them ask where you went. Before I followed your..." He exhales. "... scent."

He feels compelled to say something, so it's, "Yes. Loki. You?"

"Tony. Figure we're on a first name basis with, you know."

Does he?

"So, Loki." Loki really hates how not wrong his name sounds in Tony's voice, and that he wants to count the starburst of lines at the corner of Tony's squinting eyes. "That was your first time? Right. You're, what, 18, 19?"

Okay, to put it lightly, precociousness is kind of a double-edged sword that usually stabs Loki on the ugly end. As in his age is a number too low compared to his abilities for most people's comfort zones more often than it's impressive.

It'd be easy to go along with it—if he didn't have the urge to puke at the thought of it, lying. Lying like he always does.

Loki keeps his chin high and says, "15."

Tony's pupils implode like they're tugging his bulging eyes firmly into his skull. "15? 15, that's... That's great. That's—and let me guess, you already had a birthday meaning we're, we're 14 years apart."

See?

"I have to go scrub in. Wait, get changed because you let loose all over me then scrub in." 

Is he blaming him? Because he, the 29 year old adult alpha, couldn't control himself and followed Loki, not the other way around. Maybe it's good that he's not Loki's alpha if his first instinct is to leave Loki.

Tony pauses like he's going to maybe apologize, but gets rid of the idea and wipes the words and taste of Loki off his lips on his hand. Whatever makes it easier on him.

He counts the footsteps until the restroom door opens and closes. Then his knees give and leave him knelt in the stall aching from head to toe with the touch of someone he barely even knows.

If he cries a little bit, he's allowed to.

 


	2. Chapter 2

# #T#

Fuck. Okay, so that was a test of self-control Tony completely failed. And by completely, he means flat out, 0%, Z-, you shall not pass this course.

Except there's really no redo on sticking his dick inside his omega who happens to be a 15 year old. Kid? Hell, when he was 15 he was in his second year at Harvard playing some down and dirty duck, duck goose with anyone who looked decent behind, what he prefers to call, his rum glasses. Beer was a freshman thing for frat parties he went to hoping to lock eyes with some pretty omega thing across the room and feel that mystical mumbo jumbo that was all the rage.

That mystical mumbo jumbo he might've felt when Loki stepped out of big blondie's shadow.    

Tony's not the most touchy feely guy. Sentimental as far as he goes is going up to his garage in Flushing for a wax and shine of his babies, and not the crying, snotting kind. More of the top down, purring engine, Aston Martin and Ferrari kind. But when he's hanging up his gown after some nine hour CABG, that test he failed feels a lot more like one he passed with flying, mostly opaque, white, and sticky, colors.

The whole department of cardiothoracic surgery should be lined up throwing confetti made of shredded 4x4's and blowing IV kazoos. There's an objective chance he's not going to die alone. And one he's going to die before his omega, Tony being 14 years older than him and all.

Fuck.

"That the kind of day you're having too?" Bruce's managed to sneak up one him in the few seconds his sweatshirt left him blind, popping open his own locker next to Tony's. Seemingly sensory adaptation is lost on his nose since Loki's scent is still going strong on Tony and over Bruce, who's got a hell of a scent for a beta. 

Probably can't smell Loki though. Hopefully. Some part of Tony's not too big on sharing his scent with the world. 

"Guess you could say that." Tony grabs his jacket, leather, the real high quality Italian Tony usually looks forward to catching a whiff of since it means he's headed out, but eh. He's smelled better.

Which is actually a huge problem when it leaves Tony in a superposition of horniness. It's a matter of whether he's thinking about his half-hard on or not. If he is, then, well he's laying back and thinking of Loki.

The 15 year old he screwed and knotted in a bathroom stall.   

Tony's been called a lot of bad things, most of them true, and when he's wiping the lukewarm load off his chest and skimming the surface of some post-coital blues, his mind strays to Loki standing there across him with bruised lips and sharp green eyes maybe a little dazed from the mind-blowing orgasm. His getaway wasn't the most smooth to say the least. And this is him, "the quintessential narcissist" in the words of Pepper, saying that. It... bothers him that whatever Loki's thinking is probably a thousand times worse.

He knows. It's stupid _and not his concern_. Just some neurochemical aftereffects of being with someone who he's more than compatible with, but mystical mumbo jumbo aside, these things don't happen in a vacuum. There are consequences. Laws. Laws forbidding dirty old men from taking advantage of pretty green-eyed boys 14 years younger than them.   

Because Tony's aware he, the ex-child prodigy, is the outlier. Most 15 year olds can't down half a bottle of Jack dry and ace a Physics II test in the next hour like he could. Then again, most 15 year olds aren't as gorgeous as Loki, and he doesn't know where he's going with that, so he'll stop while he's remotely ahead.

Still, Loki is off-limits. Tony should cut his losses, cherish the memory when he's got his dick in his hand and feeling adventurous.

Emphasis _should_.

You try keeping the internal monologue PG when you smell that—like a fine red wine. We're talking Cabernet Sauvignon. And like a bottle of Cabernet, Tony pauses at the door to savor it... and to get his bearings and repeat to himself, "Down, boy."

The scrubs don't hide a lot.

Bedside manner's a damned good excuse to chitchat with Queen Lillian—really, the resemblance is uncanny—about Odin's condition, stable, 'in medicine, progress is a day by day deal,' instead of hovering near the Legs that were wrapped around his waist too long ago for the irrational, impulsive side of Tony's tastes. The blond might've skipped Loki, which if Tony has any say, is a good thing, but that stone cold composure didn't.  

"Do you have coffee here?" Loki's stretched those long legs out, and is giving Tony a look under his lashes that makes jail a little appealing.

He owes Big Blondie one for his snide, "Make sure you show him, so he doesn't end up lost like last time."

It makes Tony feel a lot less like he should be driving a sketchy white van with Loki a step too close—far—to call it professional. Not that there's any pretending that this, what Tony's doing and thinking and considering watching Loki bite and lick at his lips, is professional.

Loki takes his coffee black. Good to know for the morning after.

Fuck, imagine Loki in one of his button downs. Only.

"You should know," Loki's saying, tucking some wavy hair, soft Tony remembers, behind his ear, "I'm a freshman at Columbia if it makes you feel less guilty. You're young for a surgeon, so you probably were around my age in college, right?"

So much for assumptions.

Tony leans on the counter, so it looks like maybe he's a doctor offering career advice or something and not, say, an alpha talking to their omega who's about half their age. "I was 14 heading into my freshman year, but you're right." Weirdly and honestly impressive enough. He's proud. "Been asking the nurses?"

"No. Just observant." And then he does this thing with his eyes that makes him look like a cat and not the cute from a distance, fuzzy kind, but the 'add some ears and leather suit and you've got a party' kind.

He half-expects Loki to rub up against him, and maybe—definitely wants him to. For the sake of convenience. It'd be easy to scent him if he did, which Tony has the strongest urge to right now.

So maybe he itches a tiny scratch near his scent gland and then puts what looks like a comforting hand, just doctor to visitor, on Loki's back. And maybe when Loki relaxes, he rubs his hand and his scent all over the soft skin on Loki's spine. Scratch the maybe. He does.

Tony's hand drops when Rushman ninjas around the corner.

Something like a growl lurks in his throat at seeing Loki go. A fucking growl. Talk about going primitive.

"Heart surgeon in waiting?" she asks, pouring coffee blind to give Tony a small smile. One of those ones a little too chipper and little too curious. She's a gynoid plant, part time spy, part time anesthesiologist.

"A patient's... kid. He's a boy genius."

"Like you were." Tony thought she and Pepper had the market on judgy green eyes cornered. Before Loki.

"See you in 40."

Half of which are spent getting frisky with lefty and righty in one of those staff only singles where that slip of "Loki" is between him and himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki getting real dramatic

# #L#

He's on stage B of DABDA, you know, the five stages of death. B as in bargaining— mostly with his body that's decided that the whole random arousal thing from puberty is back on the agenda and sometimes with that silent voice in his head belonging to his instincts.

Because they're oh too happy to jump on the betrayal bandwagon and make that extra space in his bed now 'unoccupied.' Just waiting for that someone who Loki's vehemently against thinking about too long since his body will take any encouragement and use it against him. All of his breathing room is now instead empty space where his instincts think _he_ should be.

And since _he's_ not there, Loki's sort of left a lonely mess. Loneliness has never been a problem of Loki's. He loves being alone. But now he'd rather be alone with him—Dr. Tony Stark.

He won't even get started on how both his body and instincts have a field day with that. The scenarios in his head at any given moment, getting whisked off to empty hospital rooms or special exams involving stirrups and repurposed thermometers. God, it's ridiculous.

And so freaking distracting.

Someone like coughs a certain way, and he's thinking of Tony and his stupid smile instead of the routine and sacrifices half a beat for it. A half a beat. Enough to make it obviously off to everyone and anyone but not enough to make him late to only the trained eye.

His instructor asks him if he's feeling alright, even implies that Loki might be entering heat. Like a beta like him would notice.

Tony definitely would.

Tony would know this and know that, having been here and done this and that, and Tony would look this way at Loki saying that, and Tony would say that at Loki looking like this. Tony who smells like this flower on that sidewalk stand and tastes like that cappuccino from this café.

Tony, Tony, Tony.

He's losing his mind. No, he's lost his mind. That much is obvious when he's up at midnight, rushing to finish an Econ 101 report to switch windows and Google 'Dr. Anthony Stark.'

All of those times kids called him creepy just because he knew how to maintain steady eye contact and preferred sitting in corners, well, they were just predicting the future.

But it's not creepy. Nope. Loki's researching. He does have a right to. No, full rights to. If Tony is his alpha—which he is because Loki's moved past the first D, denial, in DABDA—Loki should know who he's supposed to spend his life with.

That should scare him or disturb him. He knows that somewhere in his mind, but it sort of comforts him. Not that he's ever admitting that aloud.

Tony wears a lot of suits for doctor conference-type things, and Tony wears suits extremely, extremely well. Loki didn't see him completely naked, but he felt what's obviously a very, very nice body.

Amazing if Loki's being frank. Blame his instincts for the sudden influx of honesty.

Clips from those conferences fill up his queue, Tony in his suits talking in jargon that gradually, as Loki's leaning on his elbow and forgetting how to blink, becomes stuff Loki understands. Coronary bypasses and aortic transplants. Yeah, yeah, Loki's all over that.

"You cool there?" Parker asks when Loki's maybe tuned out during a Physics lecture Loki doesn't actually need because he's covered the whole textbook already, unlike the endless videos of Tony making jokes about hearts and doctors—and Loki too—chortling.

And Loki is cool. Despite the urge to scream the more days there are separating him from their last touch. Odin's visiting hours are during most of his classes and there's a three person limit Thor, his mother, and some other person are so happy to fill, so unless Loki goes for other reasons besides seeing his father, there's no Tony. Zilch.

The videos start to repeat, and the articles detailing Tony's endless achievements because he's sort of a big deal in the medical world—and Loki's—do too. Loki's no longer falling a half beat behind at practice, but his instructor points out the obvious: he lacks passion.

Sorry that he feels like he has a gaping hole in his chest. For complete melodrama, that hole is where his heart was, and only the hands of Dr. Tony Stark can transplant a new one in. Yeah.

He's a wreck.

Cue stage D 2 of DABDA. With the tears he feels liable to shed at any moment he's left alone and fantasies of just hand holding and conversations that haven't happened, what that stands for can be sussed out.

"Hey." Thor's standing in Loki's doorway, having not knocked. Loki wouldn't have heard him over the ADELE anyway. "We're going to see Dad at 5:00. I'll catch a cab from football practice meet you at the studio."

Their father who is a patient of Tony.

"Did you—?"

"I heard you," he says, and Thor's leaving, on the brink of getting pissed off for Loki's supposed disrespect. "Thanks."

It's called sharing the happiness, which Loki's not looking so short of in the longest cab ride of his life.

Second longest. First being the one to the hospital after Loki was pulled out of class and told his father had a heart attack.

As self-centered as it sounds, Odin's done him, like, the biggest solid. The least he could do to make up for all the blatant favoritism toward Thor.

But Loki's not bitter or anything. Nope, not even when Thor's gets the first post-death scare Hi from Odin, who looks like he's at home in his man cave dozing or something if you squint. The giant pink scar on his chest's covered up for full immersion in one of those 'I'm disappointed you're bothering me but would be more disappointed if you didn't come for my so wise advice' stares. Of course Odin manages hopped on god knows how many drugs.

"Loki."

It's not the warmest "Dad" but Thor and their mother knows he and Odin aren't the closest, some near death experience nowhere enough to change that.

He sticks around long enough to make his mother happy and Odin from grumbling. They don't even look his way when he slips out of the room.

Yeah, nothing's changed there.

He hopes it's not desperation he's giving off taking the scenic route to the refreshment counter and just anxiety. You know, something usual with people visiting other people in hospitals.

There's only so much deliberating he can do at a vending machine before it's obvious he's stalling. Which is where his phone comes in.

He's just another teenager texting and/or tuning the world out with his ear buds in.

Or so they think.

He smells him before he hears him, talking to some guy, another doctor actually, who's absurdly average next to Tony.

Tony's wearing a button down under his coat, a blue one that's almost the color of his eyes, and black pants that make him look Thor's kind of tall.

His hands are shaking, so he holds onto his vitamin water tighter and after checking out his reflection—the post-practice, lightly tousled look works... hopefully—tucks his phone and hand into his hoodie pocket.

He's so playing it cool.

That guy goes down a hallway. Then it's just him and a few more agonizing steps later, Tony.

Who's smiling so casually it's... contagious. "Knew I smelled absolution." Tony's body heat like jumps Loki. "Tired of family bonding already?"

"I think the past few weeks will last me a lifetime and then some," he says. "No tie?"

Tony looks down at his tie-less chest like one should be there. It'd be a good leash to pull him down the two maybe inches he has on Loki. And sort of a fantasy of his. "No. Wasn't in the mood for some PO'd patient to do a Homer Simpson on me. What about you? Traded the skin tight jeans for skin tight leggings." Tony's eyes roam over Loki's legs. Then that head tilt from Loki's late night YouTube marathons. "Not that I'm complaining."

The instincts and body really like that.

"I dance. Contemporary. It’s like ballet without the rules."

"So, I've got myself a dancer. I bet you're good," Tony says, and makes it a question in adding, "Don't be modest."

"I wasn't going to be. I am."

They're staring at each other, silently acknowledging that thickening something between them luring Loki in. Both tangible and not. It's tangibly a smell, a blend of them into some perfect medium.

God, he wants to do something to him. Needs to.

Tony's phone interrupts the moment. Thankfully. Loki's not stupid enough to not realize kissing Tony here is a bad idea. The kind of idea the rebel inside him lives for but losing this, whatever it is or isn't, isn't worth it.

"Before I go." Tony's handing Loki his phone, taking his drink. "Just in case. I should have your number."

Of what, he doesn't explicitly know but he's agreeing "Yeah" and tapping in his number. Tony opens Loki's drink and that disgust Loki would feel at anyone else putting their mouth where he's put his, is nowhere to be found. Some weird feeling of wanting and needing to take a drink after Tony's there instead.

To indirectly taste him.

Loki's sent himself a test text, one 'smiley face' and Tony's screwing the cap on, the tendons in his hands flexing and the veins bulging green. Hands shouldn't be that sexy.

Their hands touch during the trade back.

"Would've went with the winking face myse-lf, but it's a good choice." Tony touches his neck, and Loki's anticipating the pat on his shoulder that slides to the side of his neck, warm and heavy. "Catch you later."

The second "Yeah" in a row happens. But Loki has enough sense to say, "Have a nice night."

When Tony, walking backwards, says, "Same to you, flashdance," Loki's moved onto stage A 2 of DABDA. Acceptance.


	4. Chapter 4

# #T#

One heart in very good used condition marinating in Miss Atrial Septal Defect later, Tony's giving himself a caffeine transfusion and going full Romeo. At shit o'clock, the 'I have a theory all child prodigies are night owls' text is a metaphorical rock to Loki's window.

As opposed to the literal one Tony doesn't know the location of. But he could find it. Easily. Not only does his dad Mr. B probably have an address on file, Tony knows a guy who owes him a few favors.

He's not necessarily saying he'd call them in for that purpose. But he could.

Loki replies quick. 'There are a lot of stupid people up right now too. Source: my brother down the hall.'

That gets a snort out of Tony. Big Blondie, who introduced himself as Thor after Queen Lillian gave him the old maternal elbow jab, seems to be the archetypical alpha meathead to Loki's omega. No surprise he doesn't know how to take all 6-ish skinny-snow-white feet of Loki. 

Just thinking about the sporadic game of 21 plus questions Loki's started and weirdly and impressively well-timed 'How was work?' texts. Tony's not even sure he knows. But he's always been a quick learner.

Tony: 'Ok. Causation no. Correlation maybe.'

Loki: 'That reminds me. I have this stats 101 project. Scatter plots and correlation.'

Loki: 'The professor said it had to be "interesting and unique," so I'm leaning toward cock size and resting heart rate. I already have one subject in my sample.'

No winking face needed, alright? 

Tony's holding his breath at that '...' on Loki's end.

Loki: 'But I was too distracted to get any precise measurement, and you know unreliable self-reporting is.'

Asking Tony how he wore boxer briefs because they don't seem like they have enough "breathing room" was one thing, but this, this is one deep read from "You should show me your dick again."

And no, dick, he's not going to ask Legs McJailbait what he's wearing and for picture proof.

Like he didn't ask for a lap dance that one time when he's 99/1 Loki would've taken him to damned Texas.

Tony has self-control.

Tony (sighing and wondering if he could land himself in Camp Cupcake when it's all said and done): 'You should get some sleep for the both of us. When you wake up, you'll get a better idea that doesn't involve you going around asking people their dick size.'

Does it come off as possessive?

Because, well, it's meant that way.

He's an only child. Learning to share wasn't a priority and isn't becoming one with Loki. Ever.

Just the thought of it cuts the pre-op powwow with his crew short. If they smell it, which they no doubt do, stinking the OR up with nerves, they don't mention it and stay on their toes the whole time.

Loki's his, and he wants to tell the world. Shit, just Loki. Except there aren't many words involved other than ones with four letters.

His pissy mood breaks when he's got some food in him, but the entire time Bruce's giving the play by play on his latest craniotomy, Tony's talking himself down from a dirty weekday text to refresh his fingerprints on Loki's skin.

Healthy outlets. He needs healthy outlets. Because fucking a 15 year old boy isn't healthy. Or legal. Generally.

That late night Google search would be as good as a confession and land him on some list—if he isn't already on one—so Tony calls in a favor. Without explicitly calling in one.

Barton knows by, "Grab a drink or two," Tony means Barton gets buzzed while Tony twirls his 3 year coin and sips some OJ. Tony's vice now comes in a tight little body instead of a bottle.

"So, what's the verdict on having an underage mate?" Tony asks. Aiming for casual. "How does that work?"

Barton's got two cheeks full of his third beer. Swallows and doesn't look suspicious with them empty either. "How underage we talking here?"

"Mm... 15, 16."

"Romeo and Juliet laws cover ass for 16, but only if the other person's under 19. Now with parental consent, not verbal either. We're talking ink and paper." Barton pushes his beer away, having reached his self-imposed threshold. The FBI's got a navy wall to put the NYPD to shame. A public drunkenness charge wouldn't touch him if he showed the badge. And statutory, er, rape—Tony knows laws are made by the beta majority for the beta majority, but seriously?—that's a slap on the hand at worst.

Tony's almost jealous of the guy. Not but almost.

"A contract and it's kosher?"

"Yep. So, would this have anything to do with the bond Nat says she's smelled on you?"

If anyone, it'd be Rushman, the she-bot.

Look, he's just giving Barton plausible deniability by telling him, "No."

Now Tony just has to get Queen Lillian and Gandalf on his team somehow. He’ll cross that explosive-rigged suspension bridge when he comes to it.


	5. Chapter 5

# #L# 

"So, did you, um, bond?" Parker's asking after so many weeks of staring at Loki when he thinks Loki isn't looking and picking at the tape holding his Wayfarers together and deliberately not making eye contact. That guy who punched him on the subway for being the Knight in Chuck Taylors to some omega has nothing on Loki in the department of making Peter Parker anxious.

It's sort of a gift, making people anxious and uncomfortable. And he's been sharing it with Tony, who's surprisingly resilient but.

If someone was going to be his alpha, which with his 15 short, luck-less years, was something he resigned to being impossible, then it'd be someone like—as in exactly—Tony.

Parker's not asking who, just what, which is a binary question with no answers that could land Tony in jail—a completely overblown fear because the only crime is getting caught and Tony's not even... engaging him anything to catch. 

So, back to the question, did he bond?

"Yeah."

Loki's bonded with the sexiest man to have ever walked the planet, but if someone happened to do a vivisection of his abdominal cavity—or what's more likely because he might die from a neglected sex drive, an autopsy, they'd find two blueberries for balls. Yeah.

He's aware that's a problem.

And like all of his problems, he's trying his best to solve it all by himself.

Besides the internal blue balls, Loki's in possession of two opposable thumbs, a gifted brain, and oh, a body Tony's demonstratively attracted to. Massively.

So, the overt-covert route wasn't an instant success. That's not to say it didn't chip away at Tony's resolve to not give in to Loki, but the best and most pulpy porn response possible was, 'Oh, I'd so love to show you my hundred inches.' And that's definitely not what Tony said.

Which didn't stop Loki from getting off to the possessive tone that was clearly intended. But Loki wants them to get off. Together.

Ergo, the new ‘totally aloof teenage flirt’ act. If it works for Thor, which in the worst display of the Halo effect and the power of pheromones and hormones  does without fail, then it should work for Loki.

The ‘How was your day?’ texts don’t stop (can’t stop some annoying part of him knows because Loki would be a paranoid mess of worst case scenarios if he didn’t have Tony’s sarcastic ‘No one died, so good’ texts on a regular basis.) But they’re sometimes the only recent text to Tony instead of those questions he spaced out through the day to seem less clingy and creepy. Besides the replies to Tony asking him the same, which are still as “Loki” as ever but vague enough to prompt a ‘And by that you mean…?’ that practically oozes the squinty, bemused look Tony’s probably giving his phone.

Oh, and sometimes, he just, well, doesn’t reply.

It’s Hard to Get disguised with black lipstick.

Even though Odin’s been moved to the HDU, not being on the brink of death and all anymore, he’s still Tony’s patient. Other than the quick Google search after Thor texts him, asking if he wants to go see their father, there’s asking Thor under the pretense of just being concerned about Odin’s condition getting upset by being “shuttled around from stranger to stranger.”

Tony’s not a stranger, and Odin’s virtually guaranteed to be reminding Loki why he’s still the lesser son for at least another decade with Tony caring for him.

Thor’s staring at Loki as they’re waiting for an elevator, getting rid of that chemical sterile smell with his overbearing and confused scent. Confused about what his mouth opens to tell Loki in the elevator, Thor still content to stare Loki has to be sly with checking his hair in the doors’ reflection. “I didn’t want to say anything because I know you don’t like talking about your feelings. But I’m surprised Dad’s, like, affected you.  You’ve been acting different. You even smell… different.”

Thor’s obliviousness has never worked more in Loki’s favor.

Like Thor expects him to, he rolls his eyes and says, “Whatever.”

Thor pats him on the shoulder in that disgustingly brotherly way he still likes. The second the doors open, Loki shrugs his mitt off and walks ahead. Thor will sum that and Loki’s standoffish attitude around Odin up to Loki trying to save face, which no, it really isn’t. But that’s what he’s going to tell their parents when they ask, his mother being actually concerned and Odin just feeling disrespected as always, after Loki’s left the room to go find this unit’s refreshment counter.

Whatever keeps them off his case.

He’s reading Tony’s last text from around five hours ago asking Loki about Parker, who Loki said he rode the subway with when catching a cab was too much effort. He should say texts plural since three of them are trying to subtly ask who “Parker” is. “The bravest beta in the world” was all Loki said, and you can call Loki many things but not boring.

So, he’s looking at his phone when that guy, the one Tony was walking with the one time and Loki’s concluded is his friend from connecting some dots, mainly those from the “Dr. Banner, my buddy,” in some of those conferences to the biography of ‘Dr. R. Bruce Banner, M.D.’ on the hospital’s neurosurgery website, Dr. Banner drags himself over.

Loki moves away from the coffee machine and makes his attention unnoticeable so that ‘beware, need sleep’ scent Dr. Banner’s giving off won’t backfire on him.

He jumps a little, embarrassingly, at the hand that shoves in his direction.

“Dr. Banner,” Dr. Banner says, that scent suddenly approachable, and okay, he means to shake Loki’s instead of hit him or something. Actually, he means to break Loki’s hand with a handshake so hard it puts Thor to shame. “Are you related to one of my patients? I haven’t seen you…”

“No.” Loki holds his coffee two handed, the warm sort of soothing his hand. “My father’s in here after a coronary artery bypass graft. But I know some of your work. I was looking to see who we were entrusting my father to, and I somehow ended up down the rabbit hole learning about congenital—“

“—hydrocephalus and ventriculoperitoneal shunting.” Dr. Banner pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, so Peter Parker. He’s smiling almost. Then not. “You’ll have to excuse me for being surprised. It’s rare that anyone let alone someone your age takes an interest in the, uh, minutiae of neurosurgery. Um, are you interested in it—I mean, becoming one?”

“I just really like learning,” he says, which predictably Dr. Banner responds to asking Loki if he’d like to hear more. Yes, Loki would like to hear more, and isn’t lying about the learning thing, but when Dr. Banner tells Tony about this, it’ll be like a five star review and proof of Loki being mature beyond his years, invalidating whatever argument Tony’s concocted about why they’re incompatible.

Dr. Banner’s talking, coffee forgotten behind him, and Loki’s nodding and asking questions when needed for both educational and looking totally-smart-and-mature purposes. 

Then Loki smells Tony, who smells… unhappy?

And is there at the end of the hallway then right here, between Loki and Dr. Banner, at the blink of an eye.

Dr. Banner finishes his thought, takes an unaffected sip of his coffee, and says, “Oh, hey, Tony. This is—“

“I know.” Tony’s blink is annoyed, and he turns, so Loki can’t see his face but can imagine it clearly when says, “I’ll see you later, Bruce,” with the fakest cheer completely undermined by that rush of aggressive alpha pheromones in the air.

Dr. Banner only looks confused but doesn’t put up a fight. Though the bye to Loki can sort of be construed as a small one.

Loki barely replies before Tony’s backing him against a wall. So, it’s him Tony’s unhappy with.  Obviously.

Intimidation somehow but not surprisingly translates to ‘get hard and wet’ to his body.

Which turns out to not be such a bad thing because Tony breathes in and the tension in Loki’s being eased away one deep gulp of air while staring into the blacker than blue of Tony’s softening eyes at a time.

“Come on,” Tony’s telling him, unnecessarily, holding onto Loki by the bicep and pulling him along with that same strength he held him up forever ago—23 days actually but who’s counting? Not Loki. At least not the eternity Tony’s touching him, nothing compared to the first time but something. And he’s so shameless, brash even, showing the nurses and other doctors and patients and people that Loki’s _his_ and worthy of being acknowledged like this.

Worthy, _ugh_. He really despises the omega in him sometimes.

“Pep.” Tony’s talking to the ginger woman, a beta given her boring smell, sat at a nurse’s station. She’s pretty in a classical, prim and proper way, and barely hiding how annoyed she is to see Tony with Loki. Jealous maybe? Tony’s not looking at her in any intimate way, but still.  

“Yes, Dr. Stark?”

“I’m busy for the next 20, 30 minutes. No interruptions unless it’s an emergency.” Tony’s leading Loki again, and behind them, “Pep,” which is clearly a nickname Tony’s given her, his more-than-employee, is shaking her head and watching out of the corner of her eye, green like Loki’s but not his shade.

Imagining the dirty things Tony’s going to do to Loki inside his office.

Like, like Tony did to her? Excuse Loki for being a little put off at the idea of her, Pep, having been bent over Tony’s desk and the miasma of her mixing with the scent of _him_ threatening to suffocate Loki. 

“You know, it’s pretty damned hard to concentrate in the OR when there’s a slasher flick with your omega on repeat in your head.” Tony guides Loki into a chair and sits down on the edge of that desk he’s fucked who knows how many nurses and Peps and doctors and patients even.  He is a hot doctor fantasy come true.

“Call it irrational,” Tony’s saying, “but I sure as shit don’t know what I’m supposed to think when there’s radio silence after you tell me you’re taking a ride on the Midnight Meat Train.”

A few seconds of confusion on his end before it clicks that oh, he’s talking about Parker and the subway.

“It was 3:30,” he says, “and Parker is a beta. He’s a complete geek and a bleeding heart. If anyone were to attack me on the subway, he’d end up sacrificing himself.”

Tony’s no longer looking at him and yanking open and slamming cabinets shut, searching for what. “Parker, Parker. What kind of name is that?” One of Tony’s hands slides into his hair, half-hidden, it’s so thick. “What was with you and Bruce? He’s not people person. They make him anxious. Especially beautiful people.”

“His name is Peter and—“ Tony called him beautiful.

Wow.

“Um.” Loki doesn’t even know what he was going to say, and Tony turning around to look at him like _that_ , he’s tongue-tied.

“And what’s with you not responding when I text you? You—you’re a teenager. A millennial. Your phone’s your lifeline. ”

“I’m… busy.”

“So am I.” Tony comes close again, and he’s like a furnace of hotness. The honesty in his eyes scares Loki, that it might infect him and force him to say things he shouldn’t for eternity. “But we’re never too busy for each other. Alright?”

Except Loki’s not that easy. Can’t be that easy. So, he doesn’t nod or say alright even though it’d be stupidly easy but, “Have you been with anyone else? Because it sounds like you’re paranoid and projecting. I—I understand. I’m a kid to you, and there’s nothing I can say or do to—“

Tony kisses him. He pulls away, not far but too far. “No. no, I don’t—I wouldn’t do that to you. Christ, don’t… I can’t have you thinking that way about me. Okay. Before you, maybe. But those days, they’re behind me.” Their noses bump, and Loki can only watch Tony’s mouth, his full lips moving as he feels out the words. “Only you. Only me. You understand that?”

Loki’s eyes show something doubtful, and his silence is defiant. Then, “I should go,” and he’s taking advantage of Tony’s obvious shock to get up.

“ _Stop.”_

His legs stop working.

Tony’s holding him in this trance through the power of his stare and his scent and his hands, pushes Loki against a wall and drops to his knees in front of him. “Mine,” he’s saying, but not. Not with words that Loki can hear over the loop of _yesyesyes_ in his head, with his hands undoing Loki’s jeans in one smooth, toe-curling motion, and giving him no time to breathe before yanking them, underwear and all, down.

Loki bites on his lip and tastes the leftovers of Tony who’s looking at Loki, flush and hard against the top of his thigh, and aching and wet, and—that sound just came from Loki’s mouth but he’s not at all ashamed and will and does because fuck, his tongue, it’s like velvet and hot, and the sound, the sucking. Tony hitches one of his knees on his shoulder, and he clenches, ready for the cold when he’s opened, but there’s only more warm and the sting of Tony’s fingers filling him so fast, there’s never empty space, just Tony’s fingers and Tony’s tongue and Tony’s other hand squeezing that ache down so deep, too deep Loki’s going to—he’s going to—

“Tony.”

He’s imploding or dying or both. All of it, the rough skin holding the tip of his dick, doing nothing but everything to pull every last wave of that ache out of him, that _warmwigglingwet_ keeping him open, that tickle of him humming, staring up at Loki through the sparkles, between his clenched thighs—it’s too much.

His body is burning and boneless, and he’d be one with the wall if not for Tony, smirking with Loki’s wet all over his face. Tony’s eyes guide his down to where Tony’s still holding a loose fist, Loki’s cum an opaque puddle in his palm, and Tony, he pulls his cock out. Huge and pink, so dark the tip’s almost purple, and smeared with Loki’s cum so it’s shining, making the veins look like highlights Loki’s tongue pretends to trace.

Tony’s telling him, “Lick me clean,” and Loki does, sliding his hands into Tony’s soft hair, and the mix of his sweet taste and Tony’s sharp facial hair, it’s soothing in its own way. In almost the same way as Tony pushing inside of him.

He’s overwhelmed, distantly, by the thought that Tony’s filling him this way, _perfectly_ , but grounded by the shoulders in his arms and voice against his neck praising him. Earnestly, the words left unsaid by Tony groaning that delicious way as he fits it all into Loki again and again and again speaking for themselves.

Tony shoves so deep, and Loki’s licking at that hot sound through his teeth, tightening his leg around Tony’s hips to keep him from going too far as he pulls out just a little less each time because some part of him sadly notes, there’s not knot to tie them together.          

He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until Tony is too.

“That convince you?” Tony sounds breathless. Loki did that.

Loki’s thumb pushes at a damp strand of hair on Tony’s forehead and says, “Maybe.”

That’s enough for Tony now because he kisses Loki, slow, from his lips down his jaw to his neck, which Loki’s already tilted his head back to bare.

 Tony scents him, thoroughly, like he hasn’t before.   


End file.
